Intermissions
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Mr. Murray has requested Matthew's presence in Manchester. Were the entire trip not for the duration of one month, Matthew would not have been so fearful to face the wroth of Mary. What will happen to their relationship as obstacles interfere with their desire to be together and at ease?
1. A Dreadful Night

Matthew entered his welcoming bedroom on an ironically ill note. Against the adjacent wall the scarlet fire crackled in the fireplace; on the other side of the room near the window a tulip sat regally in its vase. Young Mr. Crawley saw none of this, however. He was too entranced by the wallowing thoughts in his distressed mind. Will Mary be upset with me if I tell her? Should I retire to my bed in the dressing room for the night?

Amid these thoughtful questions was a nervousness that sank deeper and more painfully into his head than all else: Mary was still not home. And without Mary, none of his questions would need to be answered - at least not yet. Nevertheless, his darling wife was not present in the warm atmosphere of their bedroom at Downton, and this Matthew found to be rather peculiar.

Where could she be? he bellowed inside, growing anxious by every ghastly tick of the Roman clock that stared Matthew in the face on his bedside table. Has she missed her train? he wondered more practically, for the woman had taken a day-long trip to London.

Mary's words still resounded in Matthew's ears: "I will be with Rosamund today. We have had an important errand planned for ages. I won't be back until late tonight."

It was beyond late.

The same daunting clock showed its hour hand slightly to the left of the "XII", and the minute hand was gaining on that very same numeral. Matthew heard faint voices coming from outside the room, whereupon he averted his gaze for a moment to focus on the outside commotion.

He heard this much from the anonymous conversation: "...should not be back, what will I tell Mr. Crawley?" He could tell that the vocalisation belonged to Mrs. Hughes. Why her? Matthew asked himself.

He had not an acceptable answer to his own query, and before he could return to gaze despairingly at the clock Mrs. Hughes tapped on the door. "Mr. Crawley? It's Mrs. Hughes. May I come in?"

Since he was still only feet away from the door from which he had entered moments before, Matthew went straight to opening the door for the head housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes appeared rather disheveled; it looked as though she had been through the debris of a terrible storm. And yet there was not a single drop of liquid falling from the sky, nor a sudden gust of wind; it was the last day of July: it was summertime.

"Mrs. Hughes," Matthew greeted her casually. "Is everything all right?" He knew that the woman would not affirm this desired fantasy.

"I am afraid not, Mr. Crawley. A telegraph arrived just now. It seems that Lady Mary has had to remain with Lady Painswick for the night. The elder of the two seems to have fallen badly and hurt her leg."

The news was far different from that which Matthew had imagined. He was stunned. "What? I wouldn't have thought..."

"Neither had any of us," remarked the woman. "But I hope that the news translates itself for you ..."

"I see," Matthew broke in. "Mary won't be here tonight, and most likely not tomorrow. How unfortunate. You see, I..." He stopped for a moment, unsure whether he should relay the big news to a member of the staff. Mrs. Hughes prompted him: "Mr. Crawley?"

"...I should not take pleasure in admitting this to you, but I'm afraid that Mr. Murray has called me to leave Downton for some estate business. It is a convention, really, with a few meetings and formal dinners included. I leave tomorrow and...I won't be back for a month."

There. He had blurted it all out. Not to anyone who would have begun a series of shouts and protests and sobs. Still, he had confessed the truth, and how it pained the young man to realise that admitting it had not lifted any weight from his shoulders. He still felt miserable.

He and Mary had been anxious to proceed in their efforts to have a child. Not only would those efforts now be delayed by an entire thirty-one days; Mary would also be furious at him for leaving her for what would surely feel like an eternity - to both of them.

Mrs. Hughes sensed Matthew's discontented nature. "I am terribly sorry, Mr. Crawley. Is there any way by which I might be able to help your departure? Perhaps I can prepare your belongings or send your post -"

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, but no. I just..." He smiled sadly. "...I am afraid that I must be all alone on this one. Good luck to you this month -" as the clock had struck twelve - "and please know that I appreciate your information regarding the situation in London." Matthew was well aware that he had whisked away the sincere Mrs. Hughes, but he could not come to his senses. He would not have the chance to see Mary before his departure, and this would change everything. She will be angrier, he assured himself, now that I am so suddenly leaving - without saying goodbye.

"Well, all right," sighed Mrs. Hughes. "Just take care of yourself. I will make sure that Anna looks after Lady Mary for you - well, we both know that will not be a problem."

"Certainly not," agreed Matthew. "Anna is kind and helpful to Lady Mary, and we are both very thankful for that." He attempted a genuine smile for the present time, shoving away all extraneous imaginings and worries. The other grinned likewise and bid Matthew a good night. He wished her a good month (once more) and closed the heavy door.

It was not really a heavy door. He merely knew that once he closed the door to distractions, all of his fears and dilemmas would proceed to haunt him.


	2. A Rather Unnerving Farewell

"Will Matthew be very disappointed when you return?"

"I certainly hope not."

Mary sat on a wicker chair at her Aunt Rosamund's bedside. The older woman winced and admitted, "I do not think this pain will drift away any time soon. I am indebted to you, my dear." Rosamund looked apologetically at an uncertain Mary, who quickly and politely responded, "Please, Aunt Rosamund, I do not mind doing this. I will remain with you until you are on the brink of full health if I must -"

"No, Mary," blurted Rosamund, "that is the most absurd thing I have heard from you in a long time. How would your husband react to such a statement? And when you both have been busy trying for -"

"I am sure that Matthew would understand. He might even come to visit if he has business over here." Mary reached for the damp cloth that covered Rosamund's sprained leg. She dabbed it into the bucket of cold water and replaced it onto the ailing woman's leg gently.

Rosamund would not allow Mary to win the conversation. "You know just as well as I that your husband cares immensely for you, Mary. I will not let you stay here past tomorrow."

Mary protested, "Who else will look after you? Your maid is gone, remember? She left this morning."

Rosamund seemed to have forgotten this significant detail of the day. Her maid had fallen ill, and naturally a gracious Rosamund had insisted that the housekeeper return to her family's abode for the weekend. Considering what excuse she would make for her niece to return to Downton, Rosamund put a hand on her forehead. "Would you like a damp cloth?" Mary inquired.

Rosamund nodded. "Yes, thank you, dear. But truly, Mary, I wish for you to go back to the abbey. I will hire a temporary nurse while I am unable to walk." She smiled at the other, who (for the hundredth time) examined the sprained leg with rapt attention. "Mary."

Mary disengaged her gaze from the object of focus and looked at Rosamund with serious, tense eyes. Her aunt smiled sadly. "Your countenance is encouraging me to feel depressed! Lighten up, child!"

Exhaling through her nasal cavity, Mary managed to smile. "Sorry," she repented. "That is the last feeling I want you to have right now." Rosamund chuckled.

"The thing is, Aunt Rosamund," Mary started. "Well, I - I think that Matthew will not mind my being away for some time. He has been extremely occupied with the estate business, visiting our lawyer Mr. Murray and congregating with the farmers of our land. So I do not think that it would matter much to him whether I am gone."

Rosamund shifted in her position on the bed to face Mary. "But Matthew _does_ care about that, my dear. Every little moment he can earn with you is priceless to him; mark my words! When your late uncle was active in estate business, he would come home, often with worry and depression on his face. But what changed him was my presence, which relieved him of that discomfort." She extended an arm out to her niece's hand. "So I want you to be on your merry way in the morning, and no exceptions! Matthew awaits you, and do not for another moment argue that he does not care whether his wife is there with him!"

...

Matthew departed Downton moments before Mary's arrival at the village station - in other words, husband and wife were on schedule to cross paths.

It was no shock to Mary when she found him standing, coffee-coloured hat nestled in between his arm and his side. It was, on the contrary, quite a shock for the man to see his wife so much earlier than he had anticipated - a _month_ earlier.

Matthew helped Mary off of the train rather automatically. He sweated at the thought of breaking the unpleasant news to her; after all, Matthew Crawley had not waited at the station to welcome his wife home.

"How impressive," remarked Mary in her prideful tone. "Did Aunt Rosamund telephone you? No one else would have known -"

"No one called," Matthew stated shortly. He tried to maintain the pleasant demeanour with which he had begun the confrontation, but his countenance soon faltered.

Mary noticed this and continued the conversation. "Then how would you have known...?"

Matthew led her away from the train and toward a nearby bench. "Sit down for a moment," he offered.

"Aren't we going home? I am exhausted, Matthew; I woke up early this morning to make it on the seven o'clock!"

"No - at least, _I_ am not going back to Downton. Not now."

"What?" Mary interjected. "I don't understand..."

"I know," Matthew admitted. "Mary, Mr. Murray requests my presence at a series of meetings in Manchester. There will be important people at these meetings and dinners, including members from Parliament -"

Mary felt an electric current zip through her body. "You're not saying...Will you be gone long?" she questioned quickly, wishing to whisk away the possibility of her husband being absent for days.

Matthew blinked and surveyed his surroundings. Outgoing passengers now outnumbered the incoming. People began to board the train, and this made Matthew more uneasy.

Mary called him back to the conversation: "Matthew! Will you answer me?"

"I have...no intention to upset you, nor do I want this to happen. Murray wants me in Manchester for a month." He inhaled and exhaled gradually. "I have no choice."

All of Mary's happiness upon meeting her husband at the station had by now drained out of her. She whispered, "A month?", as if the words contained a dreadfully valuable secret. To make matters worse, Matthew nodded in validation of Mary's query. The woman's diaphragm sunk back down, and she would not speak.

Matthew found it appropriate to speak rapidly. "Believe me, my darling, when I tell you that I would much rather avoid this trip. Nothing pains me more than to be away from you and our family for weeks on end, but -"

"Why?" she pleaded. "Why not just one week? Does a month not sound like an eternity to you? Matthew...who does Murray think you are: a lonely, unmarried man with time to spare? We cannot afford to lose you for an entire -"

"Mary -" he began. The chilling whistle of the train had beat him to the end of his sentence, and Mary frowned at him.

"I don't want to make you wait. I cannot interfere anymore. You must go -"

"Mary, I don't expect you to accept this -"

"Oh, I can't very well avoid acceptance, Matthew. I must -sooner better than later - accept that you will be away for _thirty-one_ days. Goodbye."

Matthew thought twice and decided not to kiss her on the cheek. "I will write to you. Perhaps I can arrange to leave early on the last week."

Mary seemed not to have gained any enthusiasm from this more positive assertion. She unemotionally prompted him, "Hurry now."

And the Crawleys departed. One for Manchester, his childhood realm, and the other for Downton, her lifelong - and now empty - home.


	3. A Decision and a Doubt

Cora and Edith stood outside of the abbey as the chauffeur pulled the car in front of the house. Alfred stood opposite the two women, and alongside him were Carson and Anna. The footman went to pull open the car door for Lady Mary, who exited the vehicle with an air of discontentment.

As soon as her feet collided with the pavement, Mary stormed past her welcome party and into the building.

"What happened to _her_?" Edith wondered, a tiny smirk present on her face. Cora sighed despairingly and turned her body toward the house. She made large strides through the entryway and up the flight of stairs; she hoped to catch her daughter before Mary slammed the bedroom door shut.

As Cora approached the side of the hall with her and Mary's bedrooms, she noticed that her door had been pushed to a close (though it had not met the door frame, so it remained ajar). The Earl of Grantham was not home, Cora knew, since he had business with local farmers until half past three; and it could not have been O'Brien in the room, either. Suddenly Cora knew. She called softly to her daughter: "Mary?"

"Where is Papa?" came an answer from inside the Lord and Countess of Grantham's bedroom. Cora picked up her pace and opened the door further to make eye contact with her daughter. Mary no more held that sense of utter disappointment and curtness. She looked at her mother's confused blue eyes and explained, "I need to speak with him. Matthew has gone to Manchester -"

"What?" interrupted Cora, aghast. "We wondered where Matthew had gone; your father and Tom had to leave without him to meet the local farmers!"

Shaking her head in uncertainty, Mary confessed, "I cannot understand anything right now. First Rosamund insisted that I returned home, even when I should not have done. Then, when I got off the train, Matthew was there to board it. Mama," Mary breathed, her anger diminishing into sorrow, "he won't be back until the end of the month."

Mary's mother's eyes widened. She closed the bedroom door behind her and motioned to her daughter to sit with her on the bed.

Mary received Cora's extended arm and stared at her lap. "I don't know what to think," she admitted vaguely. Her mother knew not what to feel: stunned or empathetic. "Did Matthew warn you about this trip?" she questioned Mary.

The other shook her head sadly. "He seemed to have recently found out -"

"But why a month?" Cora broke in, eyebrows furrowed. Mary looked up from her downward gaze.

"I don't know, Mama, but I want to meet him there...and at the same time, I want to...to give him a smack or something!" She chuckled at her words and sighed. "I am at war with myself, trying to figure what I should do -"

"You really _do_ want to be with him there, Mary?" asked a hopeful Cora. "Because I think that's a wonderful alternative to waiting here for all that time."

Mary pursed her lips. Would she have the will to stand up to the men in those estate congregations, to stand up for her place as future Countess of Grantham, to stand up to _Matthew_ upon meeting him there? "It will be a lunge forward, but I am eager to do it," she decided with finality. Mary made eye contact with her mother. "Thank you, Mama, for hearing me out. God knows what's to happen, but I am certain that your knowledge has only benefited my future actions."

Cora raised her eyebrows skeptically. "I'm not sure that I have the knowledge you give me credit for, but I am always here for you, Mary. That you can - and must - count on."

The two women arose from the bed and embraced gently. Cora was about to turn away when Mary suddenly asked, "Will Papa mind if I am gone?"

The other looked back at her beautiful daughter, smiling. "He will be glad to know that you asked just that. No, I don't see why he would mind too terribly. You know your father: he seldom finds reason to fight his case, even if it means that his daughter and her husband will be on a thirty-day business trip."

Mary grinned in response to her mother's statement, but she knew that this was not true. The Earl of Grantham would not be pleased.

**NEXT ON INTERMISSIONS...**

_**"I did not want you to come, Mary!" Matthew shouted, losing control of his vocal chords and his hope that everything would still run as intended. "I knew that they would not want you here, so I did not invite you to travel with me -"**_

_**"They don't want me here? Me, the future Countess of Grantham? I don't believe it!" Mary's eyes had gone wild now. Her eyebrows slanted downward, her lips were chapped and bloodless, and all that seemed to have been present in that cheerful Lady Mary moments previous had vanished. "Why wouldn't they?"**_


	4. The Unexpected Guest

Mary endured the train ride for four hours. Of course she would have rather been feasting on Mrs. Patmore's scrumptious dinner with the family, sitting in between her loving mother and her steadfast grandmother.

But then she remembered: Matthew was not there. And since Matthew was in Manchester, Mary knew that it was her duty to take the journey up north to reunite with him.

The rugged ground made for a bumpy ride; the rails often screeched and the steam of the tank engine billowed aggressively, braving the fight through the rocky terrain.

Passengers around Lady Mary Crawley slumbered peacefully despite the train's obnoxious noises. This the woman could not come to understand, since her own body found no peace in the present situation. Mary rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes. _How many hours until I can get off of this thing?_ she wondered aimlessly. Luckily, the train at that moment had entered the city of Manchester.

As the vehicle came to a bold and complete stop at the station, Mary realised for a second time - for it was difficult for her to realise it the first - that her husband would not be there to greet her. _Of course_, she mused, _he is never there for the right reason_ (she recalled their previous train station encounter). She silently chastised herself for thinking so heartlessly of Matthew; now was not the time to self-exhort anger and doubt. No, certainly not, when she had travelled over two hundred miles to be with Matthew.

Though she was seldom without her maid, Mary seemed not to find any trouble whilst she checked into the hotel unaccompanied. Anna was shocked when the woman had projected her decision to leave her maid behind, but Mary reassured everyone (since she was questioned rather harshly, but to her relief she had departed when her father was not yet home) that Matthew would be with her at all times.

Of course he was not yet with her - which Mary had expected, since the poor man had been summoned to a month-long convention in Manchester. Mary still knew very little about the ordeal, but the entire picture resonated true importance, and that was enough for her to know until she experienced a meeting first-hand.

Coincidentally, she was fortunate enough to learn from the receptionist at the front desk of the lobby exactly where the first meeting was being held. "I am afraid it has all ready begun, milady," confessed the receptionist, "but I am certain that if you state your name and affiliation with the meeting, they will let you in."

Trusting in the man's words, Mary thanked him and departed for a taxi. The receptionist had called it the "Downton National Affairs" convention. Thus the woman now had higher expectations for the meeting, along with higher nervousness. She gritted her teeth as she thought of a speech to present to the group of gentlemen when she arrived at her destination.

...

"Are we agreed?" Mr. Murray asked his fellow members around the extensive oval table. The polished wood shone so brightly due to the lighting that Matthew had to shut his strained eyes for a moment to regain optical strength.

"Agreed," came the unison answer from the majority of the table. Matthew let his lips form a small grin. So far the members of Parliament were valuing his idea to revive the fields of many of Downton's trustworthy farmers. Only a few had challenged the idea, but those who had been critical soon favoured it.

"All right, then," Murray continued with energy. "I welcome anyone with a question to stand."

A tall man rose from his seat at the far edge of the table. Matthew had to lift his head to find the face of this towering man, who donned the livery from a previous war.

"Thank you," the war veteran spoke. He was a middle-aged man, and his voice was deep and almost intimidating. "My name is Henry York, and I represent the city of Manchester. I am pleased to be here among fellow Englishman, along with our American guests who have so kindly offered to give advice to us as we decide the fate of Downton."

The Englishmen clapped respectfully and briefly, then quieted for York to speak. "I have an inquiry for all, but I would be interested to hear what Mr. Crawley has to say to this." The man found the man whose name he had just called.

Before York could utter anything more, the door to the conference room had a knock from the other side. "Who is it? We are quite busy," one of the men at the table complained.

"She knows Mr. Matthew Crawley, sir," came the muffled voice of a young man.

Matthew's heart skipped a beat, and this interfered with the rhythm that his body had so carefully composed for the important meeting.

"She?" Murray blurted, almost in disgust. He held his tongue, however, when "she" who entered the room of startled men was none other than Mary Crawley.

"Good day, gentlemen," the woman greeted the puzzled group. She had a warm countenance upon her, which was one step in the right direction. "I hope that you will forgive me for my tardiness; my train only arrived thirty minutes ago -"

"Lady Mary Crawley!" one of the Americans exclaimed. "I have heard about you from the others at this table. How very nice it is to have you here with us!"

This reaction was quite opposite of that of the remaining people in the room. Mary beamed and neared an empty chair at the table.

Suddenly Matthew took charge. "Please excuse me," declared he, as he made a raucous noise rising from and pushing in his chair. He neared the woman as calmly as possible, took her hand gently (so as not to startle the crowd that so intriguingly watched them), and closed the door behind them.

Mary freed herself from Matthew's increasingly firm grip on her arm. "What in God's name are you doing?" she hissed, clearly furious at not only the scene but at the way by which her husband had brought her out of the room.  
Matthew felt sick. "Mary, what...what are you doing here?"

"You dare ask!" Mary countered, increasing in callousness by the second. "Do you think your wife would be able to handle the next thirty days without her husband? Do you think me to be so unattached to you, so indifferent about where you go and what you do -"

"I did not want you to come, Mary!" Matthew shouted, losing control of his vocal chords and his hope that everything would still run as intended. "I knew that they would not want you here, so I did not invite you to travel with me -"

"They don't want me here? Me, the future Countess of Grantham? I don't believe it!" Mary's eyes had gone wild now. Her eyebrows slanted downward, her lips were chapped and bloodless, and all that seemed to have been present in that cheerful Lady Mary moments previous had vanished. "Why wouldn't they?"

"What?" Matthew dumbly asked. This earned him a gruesome glare. "They...they simply do not approve of it," he rapidly explained, afraid that Mary would have swallowed each word had he been too slow with his speech.

"But why? What danger is there in a woman attending a simple meeting?" The woman reached for the door to the conference room; Matthew could not stop her, and before he could realise, the two of them were back in the awkwardly silent room. There was no doubt that the outside conversation had been vaguely heard.

Mary recollected herself and addressed the men formally: "I apologise for the abrupt intermission; might I raise a question concerning eligibility for attending such meetings as this?"

Mr. Murray began to turn her down. "Milady, we simply do not have any time to -"

"Please, James, let her speak," York defended. He had remained standing, though it seemed that he was now anxious to sit. Murray sighed and nodded, resigning his disapproval and submitting to Mary's words at the present moment.

"Very well," Mary began. "Since you all know who I am, you will find it just as shocking as I do that I am not allowed to sit or even participate in this meeting. You will agree with me that there is much to be discussed for the next month, and I hope that it does not insult you to know that I believe it to be my place to partake in this convention."

A few nodded in agreement, but the majority still held a stone-cold countenance. Matthew looked away in embarrassment. _It is not that I do not approve of women holding positions in meetings,_ he assured himself. _I just don't see the point in her trying to win this impossible case._

The woman had not finished speaking. "Therefore, I ask that you at least consider to allow my presence in the month's talks, as I would feel it a great loss and a great shame for the future Countess of Grantham to have no part in the determination of Downton's later years."

No one dared to rebuke the brave Lady Mary Crawley, for - in this situation - it would have been a sin to do so. The woman had lucidly proposed her thoughts and solution, and she had not been rude or silly in the manner by which she had executed her speech. And so silence thrived for the minutes during which Mary bowed her head and left the room.

...

"I am sorry, Mary," Matthew spoke to his wife's back. Mary was still livid with Matthew, since he had done nothing to defend her points. She made her way through the hallway and at last approached the door leading to the warm evening air outside. "Wait," he interjected.

Mary gradually turned to meet the repenting eyes of her husband. "I am leaving. The eight o'clock train should still be at the station, but I will have to hurry. Goodbye."

Matthew did not know what had become of his wife. Did she not understand that excluding even the women of her rank in society was a complicated matter when it came to business? Maybe it was not; maybe the educated, well-to-do men waiting for Matthew to return were _wrong_ about refusing the presence of the future countess. Perhaps they had never encountered such a situation and needed to confess their sinful thoughts that a woman - a _woman!_ - could not hold a position in a meeting.

He persisted with her: "Stay one night more, please. I will be finished here in one hour; then we can have dinner and return to my hotel -"

"No, Matthew," Mary cut in. Suddenly tears clouded her vision. Was she about to cry? If so, what for? Had it all caught up with her, the speedy hello and goodbye at Downton Station, the unwillingness of her husband to fight for Mary's position in the convention? Whatever had caused her emotions to come flooding in, it had certainly struck a powerful chord. "I cannot stay here. Not now that I have humiliated myself and our family in front of such important people!"

That was the end of it. Mary turned for the door, desperate to get away from the one person who had aroused in her such painful thoughts and doubts! It was too much for her, and (though she did not know this) it was too much for Matthew as well. He had to wipe the salty tears from his eyes before entering the meeting once more.

Just as he did, his wife's name was asserted: "...Lady Mary Crawley should be entitled to a voice in - ah, Mr. Crawley." Matthew apologised for his second leave from the room and quickly sat down in his chair. Murray, who had the seat adjacent to the future Earl of Grantham, leaned toward him and remarked, "There are mixed opinions on allowing Mary to stay and participate with us."

"She is leaving right now -"

"Leaving?" Murray questioned, much louder than he had wished. The entirety of the table's members averted their attention to Downton's lawyer. "Lady Mary is leaving," he explained to them.

The room was no longer silent; everyone had begun to talk to one another, and the environment had after twenty seconds become so horrendously disorganised that an American man called Richard Nelson bellowed, "Let us focus once more!"

Once everyone had ceased to speak, Nelson proceeded, "We must decide now whether Lady Mary Crawley should be allowed a seat in this convention. If she is about to leave - which appears to be the case - let us vote: those in favour of her participation, say 'I'!"

"I!" There had been very few who had not consented thus.

"Those not in favour, say 'nay'."

The choice was clear: almost all agreed that it was right and wise to let Lady Mary in on the month's series of meetings. Nelson commented, "Very well then. It is decided that the future Countess of Grantham has every reason to be here amongst us. Mr. Crawley, we will excuse you to halt her ladyship from leaving Manchester. Please inform her that she may stay for the remainder of the convention, and that it is with honour that we all welcome her into the business matters of Downton."

Matthew could not believe his ears. He was ecstatic, yet he knew that he had to be fast if he desired to catch Mary before the train departed the station. Upon receiving orders to find her, Matthew thanked the group and exited the room with urgency. Oh, how his heart ached to tell Mary the news, to extend his arms and embrace her, and to explain to her that he had been yearning for this chance to _be_ her husband!

Because for days on end, he had felt that they had been so apart from one another, so distant, so _empty._

So had Mary felt this way, and it would both pain and relieve Matthew when he learned it.


	5. Distance - Literal and Figurative

**_A foreword:_**

**_ Hello! I understand that there are many loose wires in the establishments of this story thus far. I apologise for that, as it is only natural that I (a human) should falter in my writing. However, it is with the fullest hope that you continue to read this composition as it unfolds! Fear not; all will be explained._**

**_..._**

"Mary!"

She who had heard her name turned around. It was Matthew. _He has come to say goodbye, _she mused bitterly.

Matthew Crawley sprinted over to his wife, who was on the verge of stepping up onto the train. The station was full of life in this evening hour, creating yet another obstacle that lay between the man and the woman. Stationmasters yelled, "Next stop is for Yorkshire!" whilst families and friends embraced before parting ways. There was an unusually great number of children around them - some screaming and some bawling - and this made Mary uncomfortable. She did not know why, but something about their presences brought the young woman to the previous day …

"_Are you and Matthew…getting settled?" Rosamund questioned her oldest niece, keeping a wary eye on her daughter as Mary hurried about the room, preparing the bed and the warm water for her aunt._

_Mary expressed the following with no emotion: "We are just as settled as we ever will be."_

"_I mean," the other persisted, "are you both getting on well with…oh, you know what I mean!"_

"_Fine," replied Mary, as unenthusiastically as she could muster. Rosamund hated these laconic responses popping out of her niece. Whereupon she chastised, "You could be a little more descriptive with me…"_

The conversation had ended thus, since Rosamund's leg had momentarily taken the breath out of her lungs, alarming Mary to act swiftly and diligently. Therefore the preceding words between aunt and niece had become a distant memory.

And as Matthew hurried over to her - through the bustling mess of people who pushed and shoved at him, though it mattered not to the man whether these hindrances were rude, because all Matthew could imagine was reconciliation with his wife, followed by a welcoming invitation to participate in Downton's conference - Mary felt her mouth drop. It was not an awe-inspired, astounded parting of the lips; rather, she gazed upon his feature, eager and willing as it appeared, with adoration. And it was now - though the woman would never have imagined the timing to be so - that Mary's heart could not conceal the very topic of her recent conversation with Aunt Rosamund.

As she stood there, now aboard the train, Matthew came over to her. He dared not climb up the short steps to retrieve her from the vehicle, for the stationmasters were strict here in Manchester (and he knew that best of the two of them). Instead, Matthew exposed the wonderful truth to his wife, beaming even before he began with the succinct speech. "You can stay. The meeting committee has agreed that you are vital to the determination of the estate's future. Here." He held a hand out to Mary, intending for her to receptively hold onto him in jubilation. However she did not do Matthew's bidding - once more.

But this time was different. Mary could not find the words - the right words, to be exact - to express her thoughts and emotions at this moment. She looked beyond her husband to stare at the children, and they were angelic even in their weeping and disconsolation. She thought of the words that she wished would speed out of her honest mouth: the words that expressed how she still felt distant from her Matthew, and that their failure to begin a family made the situation worse.

And while all these reflections transpired in Mary's mind during such a sweet, short interval, Matthew remained below her, confused and rather discouraged by his wife's present isolation from him. "Are you coming?" was all that he could produce.

Mary's hurting eyes slowly refocused in her husband's direction. "You were willing to spend your time here…for one entire month." She inhaled through her nasal cavity, allowing for her lips to rejoin. A stationmaster walked by and urged the two to make haste with their farewell.

"This is not a goodbye," assured Matthew to the woman once the stationmaster had passed by. "Oh, Mary. What was I thinking? God knows how long I would have lasted without you! And to make things worse, I was a fool of a husband at that meeting -"

"Don't chastise yourself," replied the other calmly, though an emotion - an animation - had broken the surface in Mary's voice. It was almost as if her true self had been freed from constraint, and Mary was afraid. Nevertheless she continued, "You were in a difficult situation. You had to choose between the estate that has given you a new life…and the woman with whom you are one flesh."

Matthew was about to shatter into a million sharp, disorganised pieces. Through a tearful face, he breathed his words: "I can't stand this… This distance…this _division_ between us. And I don't know if you have not felt it, but I am going to go insane because of it -"

"I -" Mary gulped. "I _have _felt it_. _I have shunted it into another world for so _long_ now, and that was wrong. Because I know…every time that I look at you… I feel like nothing will be right between us anymore, with all of these intermissions in our lives -"

Matthew covered his face - neither to weep nor to curse - and whispered, "Thank the Lord. Oh, thank God!"

The woman could only make out a few words of his exclamations. "What is it?" she asked, and it was then that she made a move to exit the train.

Another stationmaster approached them and directed his speech at Mary: "Excuse me, ma'am. You are not permitted to leave the train." The man motioned for her to back up into the vehicle. "All aboard!" he interjected as he closed Mary's door and all others. Matthew had since then reverted his gaze to his wife. "Wait!" he called to the stationmaster, frantically glancing at Mary - who stood imprisoned by the door and window of the train - and the entire body of passenger cars, which all appeared ready for departure. Mary tried to pry open the door, but passenger cars only had handles on their exteriors.

"Stop, please! My wife is not supposed to…"

Not a single word of the despairing Matthew Crawley was audible, however. The train whistle screamed. The wheels made their first revolutions, gradually picking up the pace as the train left Manchester's station.

Mary's eyes stung with tears as she stared at her subordinate husband, who stood watching helplessly as his wife's distance between him expanded.


	6. An Unfriendly Arrival

She scorched herself in tears during the train ride home.

Nothing could have been more agonising, more frustrating, more heartbreaking than to have left the station in Manchester.

Once more, she had been snatched away from the reconciliation she had craved for so long - for _too_ long.

Everything was too bright for Mary's pupils. Her surroundings glared at her as the moon-disguised sun snickered down at her through the vehicle window.

She was not about to scream at it for its malicious glare; she was past anger.

More than that, really. Mary could not come to her senses, and her abdomen ached as the train chugged on through the countryside. She had felt nauseous over intervals, but nothing had lasted longer than a few minutes.

The woman had decided to shrug the pain off. What more did she need, after all, to put her down? Her husband was gone! Out of her sight! It was all too excruciating for Mary, who had travelled hundreds of miles to reunite with him, only to be a disappointment and a nuisance. Even when Matthew had revealed to her the wonderful news - that she could stay - she knew that her trip had been a mere protest with God, resulting in a failure of a mission: the failure to make amends with Matthew completely.

Because Mary knew deep down that she and her husband had not yet had the opportunity to understand the status of one another. He was still very unaware of how she truly felt, even though she had told him, "Yes. I _have_ felt the distance between us."

Mary covered her face with her left hand, reflecting upon how tired she had become - physically - over the past few weeks. Even before she had gone up to London to be with Rosamund, husband and wife had not seen much of one another around the house. One was always in a meeting, discussing the future of Downton. The other was periodically watching over Sybil's child, visiting the Dowager Countess, and assisting Cora with running the big house.

So it was neither Mary's nor Matthew's fault for the distance that had led to such intermissions. And as the woman discerned this on the train - it was destined to arrive at Downton around eleven - she felt for once at ease. When she calculated exactly how many occasions during which she or Matthew were away from one another, it dawned on her that she was not alone in the suffering. Now, perhaps another would have realised this previously, since Matthew had confessed it unto his wife. But Mary was not herself lately - no, neither physically nor mentally.

...

"What in God's name were you thinking?" bellowed the Earl of Grantham, rather choleric in the late hours of a strenuous night.

Mary was at her father's mercy, drowned in the very liquid that sprung from her eyes. The Countess of Grantham was but a statue in the midst of the scene between the monster and the child, and Carson remained silent with his head held high whilst Alfred locked the front door.

The abbey was dark. Not one housemaid scurried round the halls, finishing her duties of the day before the clock struck twelve. Not one single light - save for the burning ember of Carson's candle - shone upon the scene of the disheveled woman amongst her sleep-deprived parents.

"It was perhaps very wrong for me to have allowed her to go, Robert," confessed Cora, "but can we discuss this in private? Your daughter has had a long and awful night!"

Robert sighed dramatically. "Do I think it proper to argue about my daughter's late-night return? Absolutely not, but there is no stopping that now -"

"Papa, please listen!" beseeched the Earl's daughter at last, her lungs heavily inhaling and exhaling the chilly night air as she composed herself. "I was supposed to stay. Matthew and the men on the board of the convention have decided that I can participate -"

"Wonderful," commented Robert under his breath. Then both his volume and his sarcasm increased: "They can invite a woman before they can allow the earl of the estate to the table."

Mary knew not how to respond, but Cora was blushing of utter abashment and could not bear another word in front of the servants. "We're going to bed now!" she whispered, taking her husband's hand and squeezing it a little too harshly. Robert looked back at his daughter, but before he could impart his last callous words, the young woman clutched her stomach and stared blankly at her father. Robert's eyes widened in alarm. "What is it?" he questioned.

Carson raised his eyebrows and suggested, "Might I escort her ladyship to the bedroom? I feel it necessary -"

"Certainly, Carson," Cora blurted, eager to get Robert away from Mary before he proceeded to snap at her. In a hurry, she led the Earl of Grantham back through the hallway and up the flight of stairs.

Alfred turned and left the two remaining silhouettes in the entryway. Carson would have seemed to be a ghost to the young woman, had Mary not known better. The beeswax candle had shrunk in size - and its light had done likewise in brightness - over the course of thirty seconds. "Thank you," Mary acknowledged the butler vaguely, offering him a faint smile.

He could only respond with, "I will see to it that Anna knows not to wake you before eight." The other nodded in accord. Carson picked up the luggage bag that rested against the wall adjacent to the woman and escorted Mary to her room.

Halfway up the staircase, Mary heard the ageing man's voice ask, "Are you well, milady?"

She turned to face the butler, though in her lassitude she made this motion gradually. "Am I... Am I well?" She had only repeated the question, and yet Carson accepted this response.

"I hope your ladyship visits the doctor. It might do more good than damage."

Mary pondered this for a moment. Suddenly the wrong words escaped through her mouth. "Why is it that you suggest this to me?"

"I believe that the answer has all ready made an appearance," replied a casual Carson. With that, the two proceeded silently - but on good terms with one another - to Mary's destination.

"Good night, Carson."

"Good night, milady."


	7. New Life and New Obstacles

"Lady Mary -"

"Doctor," the woman's voice interrupted. Mary breathed heavily and averted her gaze from the man who towered over her in the hospital room. She was lying on the stiffest bed imaginable - at least, that was how it seemed to a rather shocked Lady Mary, who could not feel the difference between her pounding heart and her pounding head. The day was overcast, which appeared to be a curse unto the land since it was the beginning of August. The trees swayed in response to the mild wind that swept against villagers' faces. Downton was busy this morning, despite the bleak and unpleasant weather.

Mary returned her attention to the doctor, who reminded her, "You _are_ one month gone, so I advise that you keep strenuous activity at a minimum, even though it may not feel to you that there is indeed a baby growing inside of your body." Clarkson, sensing more disappointment from the woman than utter joy, questioned her thus: "How do you feel about this? I worry that you are not as elated as I had hoped -"

"Matthew," the woman uttered abruptly. Clarkson's eyebrows relaxed when he understood her mind's immediate thought about her husband. "Yes, I am sure Matthew will be very pleased to hear the news. Does he know you suspected -"

"He knows nothing," reported the other gravely. "In fact...Matthew is in Manchester." Tears swelled in Mary's exhausted eyes; all ready she could hear the doctor's next words, urging her to stay at Downton and not to make the journey back to her clueless husband. _Oh, how Matthew will erupt with happiness when he knows about our child!_

Doctor Clarkson closed his lips and looked down at the floor. He had learned over the course of a lifetime how to cooperate with his patients, and the ways of Lady Mary were no less familiar to him than the geography of his hospital. He knew when to allow the woman a moment to express natural emotion, and Mary likewise understood when to compose and surrender herself to the doctor's wise instructions.

It was Clarkson's turn to exhibit sympathy: "I am sorry to hear that he is not home. I hate to reveal this sort of news to only one parent without certainty that the other will soon share in that same exciting knowledge.

"But I must stress the importance of refraining from travel, Lady Mary," Clarkson continued firmly. He could not imagine - nor could he bear to experience - another misfortunate loss of life due to careless mistakes in medical attention, as transpired with the late Sybil Branson.

"I appreciate your determination to prevent the undesirable, doctor. However, I cannot imagine waiting an entire month -"

"I am sorry, milady," Clarkson cut in. He focused his pupils on the woman with a solemn countenance. This made Mary blink in disbelief. "Upon examination, I noticed that the baby is slightly behind in development. If you make the journey, it would only increase the chances of something going wrong." The doctor cocked his head toward the small table to his right, where Mary's medical information lay. He retrieved it and felt the crisp paper in his hand. "Here are the results from today's examination. You may read them if you'd like, but I can assure you that I will not change my mind for the sake of you and your child's safety."

"I don't need to see it, thank you," acknowledged Mary quickly. "I suppose it is inevitable, then, that my family will make certain not to let me out of their sight."

"Then let it be so," concluded the doctor. "I do not want you or your child to face any danger early on; that would increase the probability of a miscarriage."

Mary shut her eyes closed for a moment. That word - menacing and malicious in her head - continued to repeat itself, resounding in a nastiness too uncomfortable for her to allow. She shook her head and told the doctor, "We certainly do not want that," shoving the idea into the corner of her mind. _No, certainly not, she confirmed to herself._

"No, indeed," agreed Clarkson in a low tone of voice. He offered the patient his hand by which Mary could support her back as she arose from the bed. Abnormal colours flashed round her as she returned to the upright position, for Mary had rapidly transitioned from lying down to sitting up. She inhaled deeply before lifting herself from the platform, and when Doctor Clarkson asked whether she needed further assistance, the woman - with no falter in her voice - declined the offer.

She was determined to play her cards strategically for the next few days, in the effort to return to her husband who breathed the oxygen of the earth hundreds of miles away. _Matthew would want me to come to him, _predetermined Mary. _Once he knows that his child is on the way -_

"I hope you do take precautions, Lady Mary," reinforced the doctor, "because I know Mrs. Crawley will give you a difficult time if you don't." He grinned at her; Mary acted accordingly with a smile, but she had no intention to tell even Isobel that she was with child.

She was certain that Matthew would be the first to know.

Matthew, who walked and conversed and smiled hundreds of miles away. _Did_ he smile?

Echoing through the woman's brain was the discouraging phrase: _hundreds of miles away...hundreds of miles..._

How was she to reunite with him?

...

Dinner was no lovely endurance - for all members of the Crawley family - and it began with criticism. As expected, Edith broke into her usual song of distasteful comments: "Why is it that you need to get back to Matthew so soon?" She spoke to her sister, though Edith's eyes remained fixated on her dish.

Cora had - over the course of a night, an ugly morning, and an eternal afternoon - sustained a discontented nature, emanating a disgust for anything against Mary's most desired return to Manchester. And when her youngest living daughter spat the first words of conversation at her family, the distraught Countess of Grantham made no hesitation to extinguish the negative subject. "Edith! Can we _please_ discuss something else?"

Cora could not win this battle. Mary piped up with a retort directed toward her sister: "Even were you to understand how it feels to take several intermissions from your husband -"

"Girls, please," Robert interrupted. Carson was about to serve the earl the main course, but the man held his hand before the plate to halt the butler's action. "I want to make it clear that this nonsensical convention business and Mary's involvement in it is finished. We will not discuss it anymore, because you -" he shot a frightening glance toward his eldest daughter - "are not setting foot on any vehicle until Matthew returns. Is that not hard to comprehend?"

Mary sighed. "Why is it so imperative that I not return? Can't you remember? They want me to participate! And what is so terrible about me being with Matthew? Are you upset with him -"

"Finally you understand!" Robert bellowed. Cora pursed her lips in agonising abashment; she was at the least thankful that neither Isobel, nor Violet, nor even Tom were present at the table. And yet this was simultaneously a curse: the setting was ripe for two sisters to stir a sour argument, one furious father to rant uncontrollably, and three staff members to cringe before the scene of a peace-impaired family.

Edith shifted in her seat. She, too, could smell the familial discord in the inconveniently small room, allowing the odour to consume the environment faster. Alfred looked to Mr. Carson for the signal to proceed with the second and third dishes. He quietly nodded, although the hostility between the Crawleys made his work more arduous than before.

A minute's time was all that the family could manage without any conversation. Mary continued stubbornly with the previous discussion: "Matthew does _not_ want to be there alone, Papa. He and I expected to be together in those meetings."

"You and him," stated Robert plainly. The man took a swig of wine and set the glass down with a clang. "Just you and Matthew. But did those insolent people think to invite the Earl of Grantham? No, of course not; he must not be important to Downton's future! Certainly not, since the old man is bound to die within the next year!"

"Robert!" Cora interjected, jerking her head to the left with fiery eyes and an intimidating glare. Naturally, she had at first startled her husband.

"Perhaps you should come with me, then, to settle the miscommunication!" offered Mary in such a high volume that the butler across the room looked up from pouring the wine.

"Miscommunication?" repeated a livid Earl of Grantham. "Does that sound right? A miscommunication, otherwise known as the failure to summon the owner of this estate? Ha! A miscommunication could never be so malevolent." He picked up his fork and aggressively took another bite from his meal.

Edith sought resolution to the conflict. "Perhaps we should write to the men in charge, demanding that you take part in the convention," she suggested to her father. He did not welcome the proposal.

"Right, and you will write the letter, since that is your professional occupation, Edith. Who else has any marvellous ideas?"

Mary covered her scarlet-coloured face in her hand. The Countess of Grantham's sapphire eyes expanded in width as she averted her attention from the table to the servants, sighing in disbelief that her husband dared to encourage the argument further. "This ends now, Robert," she hissed.

"Please, Papa, come with me if you feel that writing will not solve the problem!" Mary urged.

"I would never," came the immediate reply.

"Mary, we will not continue this," Cora pressed.

"I want Matthew to come home," Robert declared. "Then I can give him a long talk about consenting to such suspicious conventions as this one, much less leaving his wife for an eternity!"

"But he can't leave," explained his daughter. "He signed a contract -"

"Of course!" the Earl of Grantham laughed in sarcasm. "They have made a contract behind my back, binding one of my own to their secretive convention in which I am not involved! Don't any of you see what this is? They are building an army against me, against us aristocrats! Carson, may I please have some more wine?"

"Certainly, milord."

"Certainly not!" Cora shot back. "Carson, please pardon his lordship as I take him straight to our bedroom." She freed herself from her seat at the table and glared at her husband. It took only this gesture for Robert to understand and to obey his wife. Mary and Edith likewise arose from the table, which held their unfinished meals.

"Do not question me about anything," demanded the older sister. Edith's mouth opened in exaggerated surprise - as well as annoyance - by Mary's unfailing presumption that she would punish her sister further.

"I do not know why you always think so ill of me," admitted Edith softly. Mary rolled her eyes and passed by her sister into the drawing room. An irregular aching commenced within her, bringing the woman to only one thought: _Matthew's child lives inside of me...and he has not the slightest idea._

Mary did not ask for Anna's assistance that night. Instead, she packed.


	8. The Pub

"Is there a 'Matthew Crawley' staying in your hotel?"

"I am sorry, ma'am; he checked out two hours ago," came the response from the telephone. Mary, discouraged that yet another misfortune had arisen, sighed in disappointment. The first misfortune had been her father's spotting of a travel-ready bag in the entryway four mornings previous - because Mary had attempted an escape to Manchester, to _Matthew_ - and now the woman, desperate to return to her husband, had lost track of his whereabouts.

"Is there any way by which I can know where he has gone? Mr. Crawley is involved in an important convention, and if the meetings have been transferred to another region -"

"We have little information about the meetings, ma'am. All we know is that Mr. Crawley had his expenses paid by the man in charge of the convention."

Mary felt cold. Perhaps she had a fever; every night following her failure to leave Downton, the woman had not slept well. The hand which secured the telephone in her grip began to shake, and Mary knew then that she had better end the conversation. "Very well. Thank you; goodbye."

As the woman fastened the device back into its counterpart, Mary detected footsteps that drew slowly nearer. She turned around, though only the grand staircase and a glint of sunlight met her gaze. Suddenly, a voice: "You won't be going, you know."

This evoked an emotional response contrary to that which Mary had expected. She had imagined herself giving a callous retort to her younger sister, or perhaps an ignorance of Edith's presence altogether. Nevertheless, Mary touched the foreign liquid droplets on her broken face, and - upon realisation of her state of weakness - stormed for the front door. Edith, too, was taken aback by her sister's unusual response; however, she found it unimportant to follow and comfort Mary. She thought it ridiculous that her older sister cared so dreadfully about returning to Manchester, and her counter argument to the question, _"Is_ it ridiculous to want to be with one's husband?" would be as follows:

"Can't one wait?"

...

Mary Crawley was softer than usual. Normally, she would have considered it pointless to take a trip to Downton Village. And yet her shoes crunched on the dirt path toward one of the pubs in the heart of the scene.

Her awareness of Matthew's disappearance from the hotel in Manchester discouraged her from figuring out a plan, and it was due to her lack of enthusiasm - her lack of courage - that the woman surrendered herself to a below-status restaurant.

The sight upon entering the pub could not have been more shocking to Mary: there was her brother-in-law, leaning against the counter with a drink in his left hand. He, too, stared at Mary in awe. The former chauffeur would never have imagined the conservative aristocrat to set foot in such a place. "Fancy meeting you here," commented Tom.

Mary could not conceal a smile. "I know." She turned toward the bartender behind the uncrowded counter. "May I please have some cider?"

"Yes, ma'am." The bartender averted his body from the woman and took to completing her order. Tom straightened his posture and offered his sister-in-law a seat at an adjacent table. Mary accepted.

"So," began Tom, "what exactly brings you here?" He rested himself in the wooden chair across from Mary's own seat.

"I wondered the same about you," returned the other with a grin. "You have been gone for days, and Papa never explained where you had gone. I recall that you had an important meeting with some of the local farmers?"

The bartender walked over to deliver the hot beverage. "Thank you," Mary acknowledged. Tom nodded to the server, indicating that he would pay.

After retrieving the money from his pocket and handing it to the bartender, the Irishman proceeded with the unfinished conversation: "Yes, Robert and I made a one-day journey out to a couple of farms. We negotiated a solution regarding fiscal issues, although we would have benefited from Matthew's guidance. He knows a whole lot more than I ever will." Tom's sincerity touched Mary dearly.

She swallowed before responding. "I presume you have heard... Matthew's in Manchester -"

"Is he?" inquired the man, taken by surprise that Matthew had travelled a long distance without his wife. "Is it a business conference?"

"Not in the way you would think," confessed she. "The thing is... Papa is rather upset about the whole situation. Matthew was the only representative from Downton to have been invited, which makes Papa furious -"

"Who is in charge?" asked Tom, grabbing his own drink from the polished oak table.

"Sorry?"

"Do you know who invited Matthew?" Tom tried again, now leaning in with his alcoholic beverage in his right hand and a thirsty sparkle in the eyes.

"No..." admitted Mary after a thorough reflection. _Why, I had forgotten to ask for the men in charge when I attended that meeting on my first evening in Manchester!_ "Unfortunately I must confess that, in a disadvantageous moment in time, I failed to inquire such things. And I usually do care about the details; you know how I am..."

"Strange, though, how the men in charge are not well enough known for you to remember them."

It took a moment before Mary could comprehend exactly what Tom had implied. "You're right... Now that I see it, I wonder why the men in charge failed to introduce themselves to me, when I first entered the meeting."

Tom finished his drink quickly and set it down on the table. The afternoon sun brightened the formerly-dark pub, causing for an annoying glare to shine from Tom's empty glass to Mary's pupils. "Sorry," apologised the man; and he swiftly moved the glass to the side.

"Now I worry, Tom," Mary continued, mind focused on solving the mystery of the month-long convention. "Papa thinks that the men in charge of the whole scheme have neither invited you nor him because they are afraid of allowing men of the aristocracy to -"

"I am no aristocrat!" exclaimed Tom boldly, turning from left to right in the hope that no one had heard his rather loud declaration.

Mary agreed; Tom Branson was not - and would never shape into - an aristocrat. However, she reasoned with him, "Perhaps they are clueless about your history. Perhaps they have drawn Matthew into a convention only because he is a well-known lawyer of the middle class!"

"They probably planned to have the convention in Manchester to get him back into the swing of middle-class life," mused the other, "which means only one thing: they want to turn him against us. Against your father, at least."

"Heavens," sighed Mary in awe. She stared at the pub door; the knob turned counter-clockwise and in came another customer. Tom looked at the clock on the wall. "It's time I returned to my daughter. Nanny was up all night with Sybil, and I promised that I would take over for her mid-afternoon today." He stopped to examine Mary's reaction. She did appear rather disappointed by the abrupt conclusion to the conversation. "I know I've let you down -"

"Please, Tom, you haven't. And I am grateful to you for listening to me... With Papa so against my every move, and Edith yanking my chains..." The woman calmly arose from the chair, whereupon Tom did likewise.

"I understand," he told her seriously. The man extended an arm in the direction of the door. "We can walk back to the house together - that is, only if you had no further business in the village." Tom opened the door for his sister-in-law, who assured him that nothing would have drawn her into Downton's bustling village.

"I do hope to convince Papa that I must find Matthew," continued Mary as they made the journey back to the big house. "My husband has left the hotel in which he stayed while I was shortly there; God knows where he's gone now."

"Does no one know where he is?" questioned the man, growing in suspicion that his brother-in-law had indeed fallen into an unfriendly scheme. Yet he had his doubts that the situation was very grave.

"No one knows. I phoned Murray, but I quickly learned that he and Matthew had checked into the same hotel. He, also, was not there."

"Perhaps they had to transfer to a different location. Oftentimes business conventions do that, and no one remains in one sure place for more than a few days."

"Perhaps, Tom," considered the other, "but I worry about him. If it is, in fact, a trap for my husband to devolve into his former, middle class self... There may be corruption from within -"

"I hate to think that such a thing might be happening," thought Tom in a somber tone of voice.

The two had reached the outskirts of the village. It was yet another overcast day, and the chilly air made Mary more uncomfortable. "I wish we could finish the summer season," she admitted softly.

"We all need the sunshine," agreed Tom. He stopped in his stride and surveyed the unhappy land round the estate. "Downton is a business, and without sunshine the farms will literally fail. I hope I am wrong about the convention; we need it." He chuckled, and so did Mary.

They would not chuckle for long.


	9. The Letter

Carson found delight in the early hours of the following morning. His two accompaniments in the servant's hall were John and Anna Bates, and this the butler took to be a comfort. Lord and Lady Grantham had fought at the dinner table the previous night - the subject of argument would be unsurprising - and Carson recalled how distressed Lady Mary had appeared, hardly able to lift the food into her mouth. Edith had acted similarly, but still there had remained a distinction between the two sisters' demeanours.

When Anna distracted the butler with the question, "Are you going to Crawley House today, Mr. Carson?", the other returned his mind to the valet and responded politely:

"I haven't decided yet, Anna. Her ladyship has not made up her mind."

The conversation made no sense to John. "What's this?"

"Her ladyship wants Mr. Carson to meet with Mrs. Crawley at Crawley House."

"Why doesn't Lady Mary go on her own?"

Carson interrupted the dialogue between husband and wife: "Not Lady Mary, Mr. Bates; her ladyship, Lady Grantham."

"My apologies," Bates quietly confessed. "But what business has she asked of you there?"

This time Anna spoke in the stead of Carson. "His lordship does not want anyone to come over here, and he has kept a close eye on her ladyship and Lady Mary -"

"So you have been asked to work as a spy, Mr. Carson?" questioned Bates, creases reestablishing themselves on his face due to the grin that so desperately radiated from his lips.

The butler frowned and replied, "Not since her ladyship has made this a task, Mr. Bates. And I should hope that neither of you give me or her ladyship away, because - if you might recall - his lordship has been rather sensitive lately." Carson turned his head to lock eyes with both members of his audience. Anna nodded and smiled, because she knew better than these two men that Lord Grantham was a nightmare to everyone upstairs.

"We respect and understand your wishes," she told the butler.

"Very good; now, if you will excuse me, I must hurry out of here before any more of the servants get up." He saluted Mr. and Mrs. Bates, quickly exited the room, and headed for the door at the end of the hallway. Gallantly he had planned these steps toward the outside world, however the opposite occurred; the only inquiry with which Charles Carson could present himself offered a frightening prospect: _Will this be an act of honesty?_

Because if not an honest action, Carson understood what would transpire should the Earl of Grantham discover the situation.

...

"Carson, you have come at a rather opportune time," Isobel Crawley welcomed the butler, swiftly leading him into the living room. As man and woman entered the room, Carson immediately took note of the opened letter sitting informally on the sofa. "I received this from Matthew - Mr. Crawley," Isobel corrected herself. She gestured for her unexpected guest to seat himself, but Carson shook his head.

"I cannot stay for long, Mrs. Crawley, or his Lordship might wonder where I am. Her ladyship sent me, and -"

"Lady Mary sent you?" cut in the woman. Her tone of voice had transformed in the latter assertion. Carson explained - yet again - that her ladyship was the Countess of Grantham.

"Excuse my presumption," apologised Isobel. "But this letter I received from Matthew -" she held up the envelope and unfolded piece of paper - "speaks so much of my daughter-in-law, and I worry about both her and my son." Isobel took a deep breath. "Forgive me for speaking so openly, Carson."

"I understand how this situation has affected all of us, ma'am," admitted the butler to the woman. He decided to finally sit down - something his host had all ready done.

Isobel smiled sadly and looked down at the black ink scrawled onto the paper. In its entirety, the letter read thus:

_Dearest Mother,_

_How I yearn to be back home among you and the family, chatting and laughing in the drawing room at the abbey. While I remain here in Manchester, my thoughts automatically travel back in time to the memorable childhood that you and Father created for me._

_Reflecting upon these such times brings me to thoughts about you and Mary. How are you getting along? I hope Mary is all right, because I imagined that several days ago she would have returned here to be with me._

_We were forcefully separated at the train station - I will explain to you the circumstances later - and since then, I have worried about my wife. Mary and I are not close anymore, and these words only scratch the surface of the magnitude at which this distance has struck us. Mary and I only briefly spoke about this, but we have no means of communication now. There is no telephone here in Mr. Murray's brother's house (the convention transferred us to Bolton), and I am afraid to write directly to Mary. Robert must be furious with Mary for having traveled here earlier in the week, so I thought you might send this message to her:_

_Mary: I am losing faith in the convention's prospects. It appears to me that these people involved are not actually concerned about Downton's plans for the future. Murray and I are considering to leave unnoticed, although that might prove a risk too critical to take._

_My darling, I need you even more than before. Now I realise that both we and our estate - yes, Downton will belong to us one day - are in trouble. Please take the next train to Bolton; you will find the exact address for Murray's brother's flat below._

_Mother, I cannot thank you enough for delivering the above message to Mary. I hate to confess that I see danger in the eyes of the businessmen at this convention. I have begun to question their legitimacy..._

_I must go. Love to all of my family._

_Matthew_

Isobel had only reread the first few sentences when Carson asked, "If I may, ma'am, what news has Mr. Crawley - that is, concerning the convention?"

"You may read it," the woman declared. She extended the arm with Matthew's letter to the accepting hand of the butler. "Thank you," Carson acknowledged.

"I hope you don't mind reading Mr. Crawley's note to Lady Mary. But I do think it vital to the situation at hand. I am afraid, however, that I will be unable to impart the information to my daughter-in-law."

It took less than one minute for the man to read every word. He returned his gaze to Mrs. Crawley with a grave and slightly alarmed countenance. "I will show the letter to Lady Mary."

"Thank you, Carson. I hope that this trip can go unnoticed by Lord Grantham," Isobel added, uneasiness present in her unstable voice. "I simply hope that circumstances can come to full resolution."

"So do I, ma'am," replied the butler in accord. "So do I."

...

Lady Edith Crawley had only picked up her fork to dive into Mrs. Patmore's breakfast dish when the butler walked into the dining room. His eyes searched for Lady Mary. She enjoyed her meal aside from Tom and Robert, who had engaged in conversation regarding Sybbie. Cora had not come down for the morning repast, which immensely discouraged Carson from delivering the letter to Lady Mary. He had hoped for the Countess of Grantham's presence, merely because Carson believed that Mary would not handle the situation properly - not alone.

When Robert noticed the tall figure standing just inside the room, he piped up: "We had wondered where you were, Carson. I am so accustomed to your presence during breakfast that it seemed foreign to eat here without -"

"Papa," interrupted Edith, "I think Carson has something to tell us."

"Very well, then, Carson," Robert acknowledged. "What is it?"

Mary intuitively lifted her eyes from the table. When the butler had important news, he was usually the one to speak first. _Why do I get the feeling that Carson needs to talk to me? _she wondered internally, finishing her bite of food in preparation to depart the dining room.

"Lady Mary," began Carson slowly. "Anna needs you upstairs. I do not know why, but she finds the situation urgent and asks for your assistance."

"I am on my way," came the response. Mary put the napkin on her lap onto the table and followed Carson eagerly out of the room.

"Milady, I had to twist the truth in order that his lordship would not demand to read this letter." He handed the woman the envelope.

Mary's eyes widened when she read "Matthew Crawley" on the return address. "Why did Mr. Crawley send this to his mother?"

"For the very same reason that I had to call you out on false pretences, milady." The butler suggested a better location for reading the letter - the library - and the two retreated there.

Once Carson closed the door, Mary released her internal thoughts. "Oh, my..."

"If it helps for you to know, milady, Mrs. Crawley wanted to give this to you directly. She believes that you must obey Mr. Crawley's request -"

"But how will I?" she blurted, finding no happiness in this letter - this one sign that Matthew was still alive, still in love with her...

"Well..." The butler moved closer to Lady Mary, who had by now settled down on one of the sofas. "...I can tell his lordship that you will go to the village this afternoon; in reality you will be at Downton Station, of course."

Mary put down the envelope and its corresponding letter. "I cannot believe this, Carson! What has become of my life? Am I a spy for my husband - and therefore a disobedient daughter to my father?"

"The convention, milady, is the problem; not you." This reminder seemed to temporarily calm the woman.

"There are more problems than that of the convention," mused Mary, thoughts hovering over Doctor Clarkson's warning not to travel for the sake of her unborn child. She almost confessed, "If I go, I will disobey Doctor Clarkson and I will do injustice to my baby." Almost.

Instead she sighed and dismissed her previous utterance. "I will go, but you must promise me, Carson, that you will cover for me. Not even Anna can know where I am going; please tell her I'm off to London. In fact," she decided, "Tell them all that I've gone to stay with Lady Painswick. I am sure that his lordship would not dare to argue."

When Mary's eyes first met those of Carson, she appeared tired and much older than she truly was. In seconds, however, she noticed a change in the butler's facial expression; whereupon the woman smiled softly. "If only Mr. Crawley knew how much you have helped me within the past week, Carson. I thank you - probably not for the last time."

The older of the two allowed a smile of his own to respond on behalf of Mary's gratitude. "The best of luck, milady."


	10. Reunited - On Not the Best Terms

It would cost Mary her reputation as a lady of the aristocracy to elude Downton against her father's demands. The train departed Downton Station at noon; by four in the afternoon, the woman gathered her luggage at Bolton Station and left for Murray's brother's abode.

Despite the late afternoon hours, the sun provided discomforting heat to the region. Mary, burning on the taxi ride to the house, dreaded the remainder of the summer days. She wanted wintertime, and not coincidentally the time had brought in the past much jubilation and relief. Matthew had proposed to her in the midst of a light snowfall; how Mary dreamed of such a beautiful time with her husband, a time of warmth and comfort and hope. Hope that these intermissions would cease to put off their much needed time together, their time of intimacy and reassurance that they were still truly on the same side in this chaotic storm.

She paid the cabdriver when at last she had arrived at her destination. When Mary won a thorough stare at the house, she felt suddenly cold. No car inhabited the driveway, and all of the small house's curtains blocked its interior. Tentatively Mary walked up the pathway to the door; she had the slightest fear that Matthew had given her the wrong address, or that he and Murray had gone out for a while. The woman turned round to face the environment that had so cheerfully greeted her. _No one seems to be home,_ she observed. Indeed, every house on the street exhibited no signs of life.

Mary rapped on the door - she tried not to remain as quiet and as curious as the increasingly eerie atmosphere - and when at last the door opened, Mary spoke Matthew's name.

The man behind the door was, in fact, her husband. He recognised her voice and eliminated the divider between them. "Mary," exclaimed he.

She suddenly could not breathe. A figure lay uncomfortably on the ground beyond them, and scarlet-coloured fluid flooded the figure and its surroundings.

Matthew immediately warned her, "Murray has been shot. I called the doctor -"

Before the man could finish, Mary fell into her husband's arms - uncontrollably - and lost consciousness. "Mary!" Matthew shouted, startled by the woman's unusually sensitive reaction to Murray's display. He carried her to the sofa in the living room, tears streaming down his wan face. The man cried over his wife's fainted body, kissing her forehead and repeating to himself these words:

"Forgive me. Oh, darling, please forgive me."

...

When Mary Crawley could remember who and where she was, the moonlight punished her exhausted eyes. The cushioned surface on which she lay provided reassurance that she was in a safe place: a bedroom, with a bed and a window and an unlit candle.

The woman noticed that she still donned the attire with which she had arrived at the house. _Where is my bag?_ she wondered, lifting her upper body from the bed for a better look around the perimeter of the room. She then saw it - her tiny luggage bag - lying against the opposing wall. Rather eager to dress into proper nighttime attire, Mary slid off of the bed to obtain her nightgown.

...

It was late, but Matthew could not sleep. He worried about everything: the untrustworthy members of the convention, James Murray's health (the lawyer would thankfully survive, though his time in the hospital would endure for a month), and - of course - his wife. And so it morphed into a joyous occasion when Mary came forth into Matthew's guest bedroom.

She gradually made her way over to the bed on which Matthew sat. It was almost foreign for the two of them to find silence in the same room, together; for, after all, every other meeting together had consisted of misfortunes.

"How are you feeling?" Matthew asked her. He had so dreadfully wanted to add "my darling" to his assertion; naturally, however, the man was shy and taken aback by the entirety of the situation. "It took me by surprise."

Mary understood his vague expression. "I am sorry that you had to meet me on such terms...and after everything that has transpired with the convention -"

"Mary, I should not have been so selfish," interrupted Matthew boldly. "You really should not be here. Murray was shot by two of the men whom you saw at that first meeting. They were trying...they meant to shoot me."

"Oh, God," whispered Mary. She moved closer to Matthew, who got up on instinct to embrace his wife. "Matthew, you cannot continue with this!"

"Murray and I raised suspicion at the last meeting, two days ago," explained he. "We asked why Robert and Tom were not invited, and why everyone has made the convention so secretive... I think that the ones in charge have brought me here to turn me against Robert. They have all ready asked if I plan to sell Downton in the future."

Husband and wife disengaged themselves from the embrace at this moment. "What?" spoke Mary weakly. Her physical and emotional pain sent her mind reeling, making it difficult for the woman to act with her usual air of confidence. "What do the members from Parliament say about this?"

"They are not who Murray and I thought them to be," Matthew responded reluctantly. "In fact...there may be no authoritative figures present - at any of the meetings. Which means one thing."

Mary looked into his cloudy blue eyes - they had, over the course of one week, been deprived of all happiness: they had been deprived of Mary's dark brown ones. The woman finished her husband's sentence in her head, for she knew that he would much rather avoid the assertion and its malicious consequences. _The convention is not legitimate. Mr. Murray and Matthew have involved Downton in a corrupt, irreverent situation which will result in Papa's extraneous fury -_

Tears flooded Matthew's eyes once again, and Mary could not continue her internal thoughts because - for once in a disgustingly long time - she was moved by Matthew's emotion. "Oh, Matthew, I cannot imagine..."

The woman, too, sobbed; but her tears resulted from happiness just as much as sorrow. "I have missed you. I want us to go home, to flee from this mess..."

Matthew touched her cheek and gently kissed her on the forehead. "It will not be safe for either of us there. These people meant to kill me, and I have no doubt they will try it again. Their first stop will be the abbey -"

"London, then," resolved Mary desperately. She was more enthusiastic to settle a place at which the two of them could temporarily shove reality to the side. "Rosamund will not object when she hears what has happened."

Matthew covered his face despairingly with his hands. "If only she did not have to hear about this... Very well. I want to telephone Robert when we arrive there, to warn him that Downton must tighten up on its security. We will leave in the morning for Rosamund's -"

"The _morning?"_ repeated Mary in disbelief. She could not imagine having to conjure enough energy to depart for yet another train ride in seven hours!

Her husband stared deeply into her eyes. "We must leave here as soon as we can. We face the danger of those wretched men returning to kill me."

"But why would they return, when they know that you will have notified the authorities about the incident?" questioned Mary in a quandary. "Would they not want to flee from this area -"

"They knew I had no means of contacting the police, Mary. I don't know what will happen, but we must leave here as soon as possible."

"And that means hours from now, when I have not had the chance to regain my composure or my strength?"

Matthew gulped. The last thing he wished to impose upon his wife was a burdensome escape plan, after she had travelled hundreds of miles to be there with him - under his own orders. "I promise, my darling, that we will benefit greatly from this quick departure. The faster we handle all of this, the more certain it will be that Downton can remain unscathed." He took a deep breath and continued, though his following thoughts were not to be happily received by Mary: "Foremost, I hope that nothing so destructive as Murray's injury occurs at home -"

"Oh, for the help of God, say no more!" The woman looked down at her abdomen, and suddenly she realised that she had not revealed to Matthew that she was with child. _What a horrible time to tell him!_ she thought negatively, hushing all wistfulness for her dear husband's reaction to the unspoken declaration.

Snapping out of the trance caused by internal musings, Mary reverted her body back to the bedroom door. She bawled as she stormed through the hallway and into her guest bedroom; she had been so eager to please Matthew with the words. _It is no wonder that everything is so against me, putting off my happiness - our baby - for yet another many days._

Truthfully she dreamed of telling Matthew within the next few minutes rather than the next few days. Only she could discern how unrealistic that would be, when her family at Downton stood against a cannon that could fire at any moment.

She and Matthew left the house at eight o'clock in the dreaded morning.


	11. The Next Morning

Robert received a telephone call the following morning, as soon as Matthew had taken grasp of the modern technology - which occurred at the train station in Bolton. The conversation was brief:

_"Hello?"_

_"Robert -"_

_"Matthew, by George! What has come over you and my daughter -"_

_"Robert, please listen to me. Downton is in danger. And so are Mary and I, and all of us."_

_"God, what have you done this time?"_

_"There is no time to explain in detail…but the convention was a trap. Its founders shot Murray in an attempt to kill me. Mary is here -"_

_"What in _hell_ did you do?"_

_"Please let me finish, Robert. Mary is fine, and we are going to stay with Rosamund until you give us the signal that all is well at the abbey."_

_"And you presume that these maniacal people are going to search for you here, foremost?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Good God in Heaven… Well, I should alert the staff, and I will call the police to notify them that Downton needs especial security. Oh, my…"_

_"Thank you, Robert. I have to…the train is here. We will call tonight to check on all of you at home."_

_"Take care of my daughter, please. Goodbye."_

_"Of course; goodbye."_

Matthew bothered not to relay to his wife the rather discomforting dialogue. Instead, he returned to the bench on which his wife had settled, and the two of them boarded the eight o'clock morning train.

To his disappointment, Mary had not seemed to be her usual morning self. The normal Mary Crawley was irritable; not until the afternoon did the woman win back her compassion and her gentleness.

But on this day, Matthew observed a quiet Mary - an unsettling sort of quietude, as if her very soul had escaped her body - whereupon his arm floated over to her hand, and he gently rubbed its surface. "I am concerned about you."

He saw her ribcage slowly rise and fall. Mary blinked as gradually as one can with such an action, and as she parted her lips Matthew spoke once more: "Would you tell me if anything was wrong?"

_"Nothing_...is wrong," she breathed; indeed, the sound had left her throat without colour - without tone - and this evidence of weakness startled her husband.

"If I need to interrogate you to find out what it is, I certainly will, Mary. We have time." Matthew aimlessly tapped a finger belonging to his left hand - the hand that touched the window of the train. Everything outside was a lucid presentation: opening shops, a clear blue sky, and healthy foliage gleaming about the surrounding countryside. _Why can't my situation be so clear as the outside world?_ questioned the man with such negativity that he rolled his eyes and silently scolded himself for his ungratefulness. _I have my wife here with me. What else could I need at this moment?_

Sleep was inevitable for Matthew, and so he surrendered himself to his bodily needs in mere moments following this cheerier musing. Mary noticed this and did likewise, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder.

...

"Anyone still in there?"

"No, it looks like he took his bags and left."

"Ah, then, I guess we'll be checking the abbey. Yorkshire, correct?"

"...I believe so. But what if Matthew Crawley has gone in a different direction -"

"I have men searching in Manchester, even in Dublin; but I think I'll make the journey to London as well."

"Shouldn't we examine the ticket sales at Bolton Station? I wouldn't be surprised if Crawley took the train."

"A fine idea..."


	12. Look Outside

Rosamund Painswick greeted Matthew and Mary with a "Hurry inside, and tell me all that has transpired."

The streets of London bustled as ever. Rosamund's butler welcomed the guests inside, and when he closed the door all sound seemed to vanish. The silent nature of the house reminded Mary of James Murray's brother's residence. She had hoped to forget that place.

"Now, I don't want you to tire yourselves out, telling me what has mandated your escape to my home," explained Rosamund seriously. She embraced Mary warmly and patted Matthew's stiff shoulder. "My, are you ever so tense, Matthew! Let us transfer to a more comfortable environment."

Whilst their host led them into the library, Mary cocked her head to face her husband. "Try to relax, darling. Now is the time, because later -"

"There is no time for relaxation, Mary," cut in Matthew calmly. "At least...not for me."

"Nonsense," the other remarked. "My Aunt Rosamund has opened her home to us _for_ relaxation. And for safety, of course."

The two of them entered the library and took their seats at opposing sofas. A marble mantle engulfed the grand fireplace that sat dormant in the midst of the fixture of furniture. "Now," began Rosamund, "tell me exactly why you have made a stop here before returning to the abbey."

When Matthew finished with his lengthy speech, Mary analysed her aunt's facial expression. Rosamund appeared grave. Everything about her usually-welcoming brightness had faded, and her age shone through the wrinkles around her eyes. This sort of news literally weakens the body.

"Do you suppose that these men will - who are they, exactly?"

"They are two co-owners of a small business that exists to furtively buy valuable estates from the earls. Mr. Gregory Samuels and Mr. Sydney Halbert are the two men in charge. I assume they hired the few men who tried to kill me."

Matthew adjusted himself in his seat. Mary exhaled, and while the action yielded little sound, it distracted Rosamund almost instantly.

"Mary?" she pressed. "Are you well, my dear?"

Matthew answered for his wife: "She has endured more than I would ever wish of her, Rosamund. I am proud of her tolerance, but I am certain that she craves rest and relaxation. No, she _needs_ it." He smiled warmly at the two women. "Come to think of it, so do I."

"Of course," agreed Rosamund with a grin. "That is why you are here - aside from the reason you gave. But I do hope that Robert secures the abbey, so that you both can return to your own home. This is your home, as well; never forget that."

Mary suddenly woke up from a temporary daydream. "We know that, Aunt Rosamund, and we thank you - immensely - for your hospitality." That which the younger woman uttered sounded rather routine, as if she had practised it on countless occasions.

Nevertheless, Rosamund responded, "If only this meeting were on better terms." Matthew nodded in accord. "Anyway," she proceeded, "shall we discuss that lawyer - James Murray, isn't it?"

"Yes, and I am confident that he will do well with recovery," announced Matthew. "I do worry that he will not make it to Yorkshire in time. We need him to be present before the judge -"

"You will for certain see these men in court, then?" verified Rosamund, frowning. She wished not to believe that the name of Downton would show itself in yet another court case. _That servant Bates's trial was hell enough for the house,_ she recalled.

Matthew affirmed Rosamund's inquiry. "Unfortunately, the courts will provide our only means by which Downton has a chance of winning...even though we should win."

"Why can't these men admit their wrongdoings?" wondered Mary, straightening herself up on the sofa. Rosamund's eyes narrowed. Matthew appeared confused by his wife's questioning.

"They have already committed severe, illegal acts. Why, when so many know about their sins -"

"Not many," corrected Matthew. "Not many at all, and because there were only a few of our lot who took part in the meetings with them, we are in trouble. The jury may not declare the case to be in our favour."

Mary shut her eyes and pressed a cold hand to her husband's arm. Rosamund got up from her chair upon noticing that her niece needed to be alone with Matthew. But Mary recognised this and withdrew her hand from its position. "I am exhausted. If you don't mind, I would like to catch up on my sleep."

As quickly as Mary Crawley had exited the library, Rosamund announced that she must "inform the cook that there are three mouths to feed".

Matthew found himself alone to stare at the hundreds of books stacked on multiple bookshelves. Deciding to distract his mind with a book, the man lifted his body from the sofa and picked out a novel in which to engross himself.

...

When Matthew at last entered the guest room for the night, Mary averted her gaze from the window to her husband. The countenance she donned had an extraordinary way of worrying Matthew beyond measure. Mary's complexion was more pallid than usual; her eyes held tears between the eyelids, and long dark lines surrounded the region.

After giving her husband such a blank stare, Mary commanded, "Come look out the window."

Matthew obeyed without hesitation; he had a suspicion that his worst thoughts would come to life: that the men who had tried to kill him would find him.

His eyesight was sharp enough to detect three figures in a shadow caused by the building opposite to the one in which he stood. Mary had remained beside the window the entire time, and so she too watched the sight. "Is it _them?"_

Most unfortunately, it was. Matthew motioned toward the curtains. "We must carefully cover the window. Slowly, now, because if we draw attention toward this room -"

"Damn the room," exclaimed Mary, frightened as ever now that her rock - her _Matthew_ - was scared. "They obviously know where we are, and if my Aunt Rosamund suffers from this I will never forgive myself!"

"Mary, please," reasoned the other. He could not afford to lose his wife in this battle between insanity and composure. "Yes, these men are dangerous, but if I can reach the telephone in time..."

"In time? So you think these men are about to break through the glass of a window? How could they expect to survive the night without being caught?" Mary put a hand on her head and turned in the dark room toward their bed. She knelt down beside it and began to pray, "Lord, if it be your will, please drive these demons away from us..."

Meanwhile, Matthew worked cautiously to bring the two curtains together. The intensity of the moonlight depreciated as he gradually blocked the outside world from the bedroom. "There," he declared. "Now I must warn Rosamund -"

"No," pleaded his wife, "please do not let her know about this! If we do call the police, she might never have to know that these men were here!" Mary got up from her present position and started toward Matthew and held one arm out in the way of the door, as if she could prevent him from abandoning her to remain in the confines of the room. How she absolutely _detested_ his sense of duty at this moment! It irked her, and yet it comforted her faith that Matthew Crawley almost always had practicality on his side.

"I am not letting you leave," came her strong, weak voice. Yes, it was both powerful and wan; for the storm braver could do such with her voice, with her actions, with her physical being: she could perform anything boldly, should the time prove critical. Matthew was astounded by her assertion, whereupon he halted in his strides toward her and the door.

He asked her this, softly: "Are you all right, Mary?"

No response. Mary turned away from him, though it pained her so. How could she ignore him when for so long she had been aching to _be_ with him?

"I want to know what is wrong, because clearly you are not all right. Before I leave to tell Rosamund -"

She had for so long succeeded in preventing herself from unleashing violent emotion. Now Mary let it out. Sobbing in Matthew's midst was more embarrassing than it was redeeming, and for this she felt guilt. Were she feeling normal - that is, as close to a "normal" human as Mary Crawley could manage - the woman would have appreciated Matthew's comforting embrace, or his assuring whispers of "I am so, so sorry" and "I love you dearly".

And despite his wife's continuous rejection at this moment - her reluctance to admit through bodily gesture that she truly did need him, her inability to believe that she, too, could be the one to whom a helping hand is given - all this Matthew endured with firm yet gentle arms wrapped around his wife's smaller build, and he did not complain. Nor did he decide that he had to tell Rosamund about the men outside.

Which was a bad thing.

**_How dangerous are these men outside the Painswick residence? Will Mary finally have to admit her pregnancy to Matthew?_**

******TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
